


Carpe Natem

by AssyEr



Category: The Mechanisms (Band)
Genre: Caretaking, Character Death, Fever, He gets better, Jonny has a bad time, M/M, On the Moon, Sick Character, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, War, for practic purposes, i refuse to be shamed about the moon fever, no beta we die like men, no i wont apologize for the title its 2 am, the other two are sick with worry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:14:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25854973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AssyEr/pseuds/AssyEr
Summary: While on a mission, Jonny gets sick with Moon Fever. Without anywhere near to get him help, Tim and Bertie try to save him from a sure death. If they could just stop and let him die in peace...
Relationships: Bertie/Jonny d'Ville/Gunpowder Tim
Comments: 22
Kudos: 138
Collections: Writer's Month 2020





	Carpe Natem

**Author's Note:**

> written for writers month, prompt Light

There were lights everywhere, coming from the ground, from above, from behind and from in front of them. It was a pale, yellowish glow coming from everywhere, and it seemed to cover the whole tunnel on its color.

Jonny d’Ville knew that there shouldn’t be any light. They were… Bertie, Tim and him, they were…

They were in a side tunnel, he remembered. Their captain had said that there might be Lennys waiting for them when they crossed… this. There could be Lennys, and so the whole division had divided into small groups, and they were to walk to the other side in different paths, in complete darkness.

This was wrong, then. It all glowed around them, and they were still walking forwards. Bertie, Tim, and him, they were…

Where was the Toy Soldier?

He looked around. It wasn’t with them, with Bertie, Tim, and him, they were…

They were walking still, in a glowing tunnel. Why were they walking? The Lennys were going to find them and cook them. Their captain had said to walk in darkness…

They were walking because they needed to get to the other side. It was important to get there, their captain had said. The Lennys were in the other side, and had captured the commander… they had captured the Toy Soldier, that’s why it wasn’t with them, with Bertie, Tim, and him, they were…

Bertie, Tim, and him, they were in a glowing tunnel. It glowed, and they also glowed. They glowed when they told him to hurry up, that they wanted to get to the camp sooner than later.

The camp. There was a camp on the other side, were they would sleep and eat and drink before recuing their commander… He didn’t care, he didn’t need to do that. He was immortal, like the Toy Soldier.

Where was the Toy Soldier?

It wasn’t here, they were only Bertie, Tim and him, they were walking in a glowing tunnel. They shouldn’t do that, they were mortal, they would die if the Lennys found them.

Bertie, Tim and him, they were…

They were talking to him. They had turned around and were talking to him, but he didn’t understand. They didn’t say words, they just glowed. He wanted to tell them to stop glowing, the Lennys would find them.

He wouldn’t be able to save them from the Lennys. Maybe if the Toy Soldier was here…

Where was the Toy Soldier?

It wasn’t here, it was only them, Bertie, Tim and him, they were…

Bertie, Tim, and him.

It all glowed so much.

Where was the Toy Soldier?

Tim and Bertie were terrified.

They had turned to nag Jonny about being so slow, until realizing that there was something wrong with him.

Having been in the middle of the darkness, the only reason they even registered him slowing down was because of the sound of the steps he took. They were farther and farther away, and louder, and Tim had turned to him to tell him to stomp louder because the Kaiser hadn’t yet woken up from his nap.

Both Tim and Bertie stopped dead when he didn’t answer his bickering.

But the steps kept sounding, and the feet were closer and closer. He didn’t seem to have realized that they stopped, but how? It’s not like he would just start ignoring the sound that had guided them since the beginning of the war.

Unless that wasn’t Jonny, a whisper came into Tim’s mind.

He zigzagged his foot on the dirt, a sign for Bertie that the British used since they walked first into the tunnels. There’s something wrong here. I’m weary. Gun up.

Bertie responded, and he knew he had as well his laser pointed at the direction the figure came from.

If it was Jonny he would speak to them. He would notice the silence, he would make some sign. He was an asshole, but not that kind of asshole. He would tell them he was fine.

The figure kept walking towards them. Tim’s weapon trembled on his hands, but he had no way of knowing that. He just wanted the bastard to react, to say something. It took all of his willpower not to get a match from his pocket and light it.

It was nearer. They should shot. They didn’t.

Then, they heard it. There was no complete silence, because whoever that was, they were talking, mumbling more like so. Incoherent things, but Tim couldn’t recognize the voice. Couldn’t tell if it was Jonny or a Lenny.

He heard a metallic click from where Bertie was. I think the danger has passed, it meant. I think it is Jonny.

How could he be sure? The stranger was still too far away, and whatever they said it was through their teeth. If it was a Lenny, and they lowered their guns, they would be dead. Worse than dead, they would be a fucking lamp.

Bertie clicked his nail against his laser again, insisting. He seemed so sure that it was Jonny.

Tim really wished it was Jonny.

If they had taken him without them even noticing…

Bertie clicked again at him, waiting for a response. If he didn’t gave him one, he would assume the enemy got him too, and that he was surrounded. Anything was fair, then.

How could he know?

Tim returned the click, and lowered the gun, as he was sure Bertie did too.

“Jonny?” Bertie asked, and he heard him advance towards the person. “Jonny, what’s wrong?”

The mumbling was louder now, and even Tim could confirm now that it was indeed their partner. He let out a breath, relived. But that didn’t change the fact that he wasn’t answering, and they didn’t know why. Something was very, very wrong.

Tim also advanced towards him, who was now standing still. Why was he still? Tim couldn’t find him like that, and neither could Bertie. He could be right in front of them, and they wouldn’t know it.

They both were moving their feet as they stayed still. They needed him to tell them where he was, they couldn’t hear him, where the fuck was d’Ville?

There sounded a loud _thump_ in front of them.

Bertie sat in front of Jonny, while Tim tried to make a small fire.

When Jonny fell unconscious in front of them, he knew that it was serious. He _never_ got sick, not even on the second year, when the conditions on the camp had been… rotten. Hell, not even hangover that he could speak about, even when he spent most nights drinking until passing out.

So they weren’t ashamed to say that when he fell they both froze in fear. Three years of war and not once had he acted like that. If there was something near capable of taking Jonny d’Ville down…

Bertie was the first to react, kneeling in the ground and searching for the man with his hands. He inspected all over him, feeling for blood or lead or whatever, but he didn’t found it until he got to his head.

A fever. He had passed out from a fever, or had a fever and passed out, and he was quick to tell Tim so.

Neither of them knew much about first aids, save what they were taught on their training, which consisted more of bullet holes and other bloody injuries, but nothing about viruses or whatever the hell he had. It didn’t take a genius however to know that his brown was worrisome hot, and that he wouldn’t be able to keep walking.

They found a cave, not very big, but secluded enough that they felt safe resting there, and actually risking making a light.

No one knew why, but electric light didn’t work in the moon. Electricity ran just fine through the pumps, and batteries, and fridges. But when it reached a lightbulb or a screen, it just disappeared. Got lost. So Britain had provided its soldiers with oil lamps and matches and instructions of how to make a campfire. Not that they had many occasions to use them, as it was absolutely prohibited to light anything up outside the camp (it was not that it was against orders what stopped them, tough, but the fact that it would be a suicide act).

That didn’t matter right now, because they were very deep in an abandoned tunnel, and they needed the light. They needed to find out what was wrong with Jonny, because they were days away from any medical help. His life could be at risk for all they knew.

So, they could afford a fire.

They had laid Jonny away from it, but close enough to actually keep an eye on him while he rested on the sleeping bag. At least he was not shivering.

Jonny d’Ville’s first thought upon waking up was “ _fuck_ ”. His head hurt like hell, and he couldn’t concentrate on anything in front of him. The world seemed to spin in a slow maddening way, and some rocks were actually glowing. Which was. Not good.

Instinctively he reached with his hand for his gun, but found the holster empty. _Double fuck_. He immediately got up.

This was a mistake, as now he was bending over himself, trying to gain a grip over his stomach. He felt as if Brian had left Nastya to pilot the ship, and they both got distracted, much to the crew’s despair.

There were hands on his shoulders, and then on his hair holding it away from his face, and _he didn’t know whose they were._

He couldn’t take it anymore, and threw up in the floor next to him.

Much to his surprise, only bile got out. He remembered having eaten, a lot. They had gotten actual meat before they parted, why wasn’t he throwing it up? And the person behind him, holding his hair. He didn’t know who that was. He tried opening his eyes to see, but everything, the bile, the floor, his hands. It all glowed. It gave him a headache.

Whoever was behind was hushing him now in calming whispers. Who the fuck did they thought they were? He wasn’t a fucking child for god sake, he had thrown up liters of alcohol before, he…

He recognized the voice. Kind of. Tim? Bertie?

Bertie, Tim and him, they were…

Where had that come from?

Someone with a wet cloth was cleaning his mouth. He tried to bite the hand.

They laughed. Tim. Which probably meant that whoever was behind him was Bertie. As if he could ever hope to see them apart, like chewing gum the fuckers were.

“Calm down, you savage, it’s me” Tim said, holding his face and finishing cleaning it off bile. Jonny scoffed at him, but didn’t found the strength to get out of his grip, so he just. Let him. “Water?” he offered.

Sensing that nodding would not be a good option right then, he hummed in affirmation. The hands in his face left him then, presumably to get the canteen. Bertie’s kept petting his hair.

It was… nice. Not that he would ever admit it out loud.

What had happened? Where were they? They had been crossing… something. To get somewhere. Their captain had told them to form small groups, because they might find Lennys waiting for them, and by dividing they had better chances to get to the other side.

They had divided in groups. Bertie, Tim and him, they were…

Where was the Toy Soldier?

“Hey, Jonny,” a voice behind him said. Why was it calling him, what did it want? How did he know his name?

He was going to shoot it. He didn’t have his gun.

“Jonny? Jonny, it’s Bertie, do you hear me?”

It was Bertie, Jonny thought. Bertie knew his name, and often called him because he was as annoying as his stupid boyfriend. Tim. Bertie and Tim. Bertie, Tim and him, they were…

He had asked him something. If he could hear him. Jonny supposed that if he knew this, he must have heard him at some point. He hummed in affirmation, feeling incapable of forming words.

“That is, Jonny, that’s very good,” were he in a better state, he would show him what was so good. “Stay up for us, okay? For me and Tim”

Jonny d’Ville didn’t do anything for anyone, he wanted to tell them. What got out instead was an intelligible mumbling.

There was something on his lips, pushing them open, hitting his teeth. It was round, and fresh, and _water_. Water poured onto his mouth in a small stream, and he drank keenly, suddenly aware of how thirsty he actually was. But before he could fully satisfy himself the thing, the canteen was taken away from him.

He did not let out a whimper.

But something else amusing must have happened, because Tim laughed a nervous laugh. He cleaned the water he had thrown over himself with that stupid cloth, and _he was going to bite his fucking fingers off if he didn’t stop doing that_.

“That’s better, isn’t it?” Tim said, more to himself than him, probably. Because otherwise he was just being a dick and taking advantage of the fact that he couldn’t show him how much he appreciated those words.

Jonny was getting tired of it. Coughing a bit, he managed to say something mildly coherent. “My gun?” he wanted to say he demanded.

“We took it away,” Bertie’s hands left his hair. Why did they do so? “You… were kind of delusional. Tried to kill yourself” he said the last part rushed, trying to get them out of his mouth before he could think about what they truly meant.

That sounded like him, he barely contained from saying. He wanted to kill himself right now, so he could get over with all this stupid sickness like he always did. But they had his gun, and he doubted they would give it back to him if he told them that.

They didn’t know. Well, they didn’t believe him that he was immortal. Not that he made much of an effort in telling them so. He wished he had, so they would simply euthanize him and they could all get over this shit.

“I’m better now,” he told them, looking up. He tried to open his eyes- no, bad idea. He kept them closed.

Bertie, he supposed, pressed a hand against his back. “At least you can talk”

He was angry. He wanted his gun back, they had no right to take it from him. He moved his arm on his general direction, hoping to perhaps get Bertie’s. It would do.

Bertie didn’t seem to agree with him, taking his hand and entwining it with his. He tried to shake him off but his grip was strong. He complained, this was not the time to get sappy; they were in no man’s land, and his head fucking hurt.

Tim spoke. “Jonny, I need you to do something for us, okay?” he took his other hand to get his attention. If it were for Jonny, none of them would have any hand left by now. “Open your eyes and tell us what you see, yes? Can you do that for us?”

His answer did not let itself wait. “Fuckers” he would have spat at them if he had anything to spat with. He felt his hands get pressed, demanding a response from him. He knew what they feared. “Everything f’cking glowing” he confirmed.

During the first year of war, there was a pandemic in the British army. The soldiers, whose bodies were not used to living in the moon, had acquired what they called “the moon fever,” a sickness that characterized itself by making people see things as if they were glowing, among the more classic symptoms, like fever, headache, stomachache, the classics.

Jonny never had it. This was mainly because every time he felt slightly uncomfortable he would kill himself to make it disappear (which was quite often, with his drinking habits and his recklessness in the battle field). He had gotten a shot like everyone else when a vaccine was distributed, of course, but he had died a lot of times since then, and he would be surprised if he still conserved a single cell from those days.

And now he was stuck with the fucking moon fever. Great.

And they wouldn’t let him die, Bertie and Tim. They would make him go through it, hoping that it would not take him away. He would get over it, all right, but it would take time. Less than a human, yes, but still.

Bertie and Tim, they were assholes for making him go through it. Bertie, Tim and him, they were assholes.

“Fuck,” said one of them, he didn’t know who. It didn’t matter, he was angry with both. Bertie and Tim, they were assholes for not killing him.

If the Toy Soldier were here it could help him.

Where was it?

Where was the Toy Soldier?

Hands pushed him down to lay on his back. He didn’t want to lay on his back. He wanted to die. They pushed him on his back, they…

Who were they?

They weren’t the Toy Soldier, they were supposed to be rescuing it. They were assholes. They were Tim and Bertie. Bertie and Tim. Bertie, Tim and him, they were…

They were assholes. Except the Toy Soldier.

Where was the Toy Soldier?

They were worried about him.

He had woken three times. The first one Tim saw it by a miracle, as none of them were expecting him to react. He had been ~~asleep~~ unconscious for an hour, much to their distress. Bertie had taken up pacing around to cope with his nerves, while Tim doodle in the moon sand in front of the fire, glancing up now and then to keep an eye on the man.

His firsts moves he thought were unconscious, just fingers trembling, latter an arm moving. It could all be easily explained, and even if he could do nothing for the way his heart accelerated as he watched him move, he was not going to raise Bertie’s hopes for nothing.

Then it went to his holster. Okay, thought Tim, less common. And then it closed over his gun, and started taking it over his head…

He jumped on him and took it away from him, trembling at what had been about to happen. Tim looked at Bertie, who had the same terrified expression. With a glance, they agreed on hiding the gun, and not talking about what they had seen. Not then.

The second time they managed to make him drink water, and confirmed his worst fears. There were few diseases that could take a man down so fast and they were all bad, but to actually have it confirmed…

The moon fever had taken a lot of men before being completely eradicated with the vaccines. But there must have been something wrong with the cargo Jonny’s was taken from, or perhaps his body hadn’t integrated it completely, or…

It didn’t matter what had happened, because they had enough to think about without getting on why’s. They had definitely not the equipment to treat a severe case, nor the knowledge, and there was no one around them that had. What was more, they were in the middle of no man’s land, and the Lennys could find them any moment, and Jonny couldn’t move.

They were trapped.

The third time he had managed to not make himself noticeable, even though Bertie and Tim had been taking turns on keeping an eye on him. He had grabbed a rock near him, and started hitting it against his head. He, however, was no stronger than the last time he had woken up, and the first hit barely draw blood. That got Bertie’s attention, who had been until then talking with Tim, and rushed to get the rock out of his hand and immobilize him.

After that they resolved to tie him up.

His fever kept rising. They were sick with worry, and were inspecting carefully the contents of the emergency kit they had been given. There was a thermostat (that they used to confirm their suspicions), a couple of pills for almost everything, and a small injection.

They kept pressing the wet cloth against his forehead, hoping that it would do him good. Against common belief, water was not a problem in the moon, as there were many waterholes connected to the main water system. They had been remains of better times, back when the Moon Kaiser was a cherished and respected title, and the population prospered both inside and outside the tunnels. Now, they were the only reason they all hadn’t fallen to dehydration.

If the fever didn’t go down, they would give him the pills. And even if that didn’t work, they had the syringe as a last resource.

The next time he wakes he panics about not being able to move. He moves and wiggles, but his arms are tied on is stomach, and his legs one against the other.

He knows how to get free of this particular knot. He can’t remember. All that he could think about was how _he couldn’t move_ , he was trapped and to the mercy of whoever walked onto him, he was defenseless, he couldn’t do anything about it.

His metal heart refused to accelerate no matter how much his body begged him, no matter how much he felt like his lungs burned or how light his head was. It just kept ticking at a constant rhythm that was doing nothing in favor of his case. It was actually doing the opposite, serving as a memory boost to that which he was so desperate to bury. Another time he had been tied up.

He opened his eyes wide, and it hurt, but it was worth it because the hurt and the glow made him remember where he was. He was not there. He wasn’t. He was here.

As he shoved those memories down other details from his surroundings arose. Voices around him, slow and hushed. A hand on his mouth, preventing him from making noise. He instinctively tried to shake it off, but it didn’t give in, following his head.

He bit it, and a hand pulled hard from his hair. He let go.

Those voices had owners, and he knew them. Kind of. He thinks. They sound familiar, a good type of familiar, and he tries to listen, closing his eyes because the lights were getting distracting.

He didn’t understood then, but they slowed down, less urgent now. That was good, but he didn’t know why. He didn’t care either.

The hand got off of him, thankfully. He stretched his jaw and his lips. Someone next to him laughed.

Why were they laughing?

The voices were nice, happy, and it was easier to understand them now. They were apologizing, something about tying him up.

He was tied up, he remembered.

“Why did you tied me up?” he asked them. He struggled once more against the bindings, just because he could.

Out of nowhere was a hand on his hair, and Jonny flinched. It disappeared as fast as it had come.

“You were hurting yourself,” Tim said. Tim! That bastard, he couldn’t believe he had forgotten about him. And if he was here, Bertie couldn’t be far. They were inseparable, Bertie and Tim. Bertie, Tim and him, they were…

He needed to focus. “Fucking untie me” he told them with as much anger as he could muster, which was not much, giving his state.

The hand came back to his hair, this time more hesitant. Jonny leaned into it, to gain their favor of course and they would free him. No other reason.

It felt nice. It stroked him from his forehead to his neck, from the root of his hair to its tips. It went behind his ear, and on his neck, and then to his face. It caressed his cheek, and massaged the part next to his eyes where a small ache was building up. He sighed, stretching his neck. Another hand joined that one, one beside each eye, and Jonny would have purred were he capable to.

There was a voice calling him. Why couldn’t it leave him alone?

He decided to ignore it, focusing instead on the hands on him. They must be Bertie’s, only he was able to do that kind of magic with them. He usually didn’t have the patience nor the disposition to let him work on him like that, but he was tied up (thanks to him, the bastard) so it was fine. He could have stayed like that forever.

But then they left him, and if Jonny were a lesser ma he would have whined at the loss. The voice was more insistent now. It was probably its fault the hands had left him. Fucker.

“What?” he snarled at it.

“I am giving you pills for the fever, okay? Open your mouth, I’ll give you some water later” Tim said.

Of course it had been Tim. He was probably jealous of the attention Bertie had been giving him. He had always been needy. But did he really have to give him pills? He didn’t want pills. He hated them. Couldn’t they just kill him?

He… some part of that had been said out loud, judging by how his mouth was open. Uh.

Tim took advantage of his shocked state and put his fingers on his mouth. That was disgusting, Jonny wanted to tell him, but he wanted even more for him to get his fingers out of his mouth. He moved and shook but he didn’t relent.

When he got them out Jonny realized he had put something in there, almost at his throat. He tried to spit it out, but Tim must have realized, and so he covered his mouth with his hand, still wet from his saliva, shutting it.

Hadn’t he said something about pills? No, he hadn’t, because if he had this wouldn’t have been so much of a dick move and Jonny wouldn’t need to avenge himself later.

He swallowed it, and allowed Tim to open his mouth and inspect his inside to confirm he wasn’t tricking them. Which he could if he wanted. But he didn’t.

He didn’t because he appreciated them, Bertie and Tim, and sometimes the Toy Soldier.

Where was the Toy Soldier?

There was another thing against his mouth, which was very unfair because he had already done what Tim asked. And he hadn’t bitten his fingers off! He should appreciate how lucky he was.

But this time he didn’t make him open, instead reclined whatever he had, and his lips felt wet. Water. He must have a canteen. With water, unfortunately. He wanted him to get the one on _his_ backpack, the one that was more fun. But they probably wouldn’t want to give it to him, because they were all killjoys. Bertie and Tim. Bertie, Tim and him, they were…

The Toy Soldier!

He must have said that out loud, because he was wet all over now, and there were voices trying to calm him down. Bertie’s voice.

He didn’t want his voice. He wanted his hands.

And his hands he got, and he reclined once again against the pillow. The hands were on him, and it felt good, and he was better now. Calmer.

Until Tim got at it again. Ugh, Tim. He was going to kill him when he let him free.

He insisted once again on cleaning his face, and he wanted to shout at him that it was fucking water, that it made no difference, they were in the middle of the battle field…

….They were in no-man’s land…

He struggled to get him off, even tried to use his hands, forgetting that they were tied. He grumped at him to stop, to be quiet, but he was no boss of him. Eventually he was moving his head fast enough that he just couldn’t do anything with that damn cloth of him.

But Bertie’s hand stopped, too.

He moved his head on his direction, feeling betrayed. They came back, much to his relief, but so did Tim’s. When he tried to shake him off again the good hands left again. The message was clear.

He groaned as he let his head go limp on the floor. Bertie resumed to touching him, petting his head before going back to massaging. He would have enjoyed that were it not for Tim and his cloth. They were annoying as fuck, passing it all over his face in soft touches that could have been enjoyable were they not fucking humiliating.

Ugh, Tim. He was going to kill him when he let him free.

Bertie kept petting Jonny hours after he had fallen asleep. It was a comforting thing for him now, as he looked at Tim with eyes full of concern.

He had taken his temperature a moment before, and it still hadn’t dropped. They would have to go for the syringe. And if that didn’t work…

He burrowed his fingers on his hair. Somehow it was always soft to the touch, no matter how much blood was washed from them, or how many times it had been covered by moon sand. Apparently Jonny loved it when he petted his hair, and he was determinate to do it more often when he got better.

Jonny whimpered a little below him. Apparently he had grabbed a lock of hair too harshly. He let go, and petted softly the area.

They injected him with the syringe, and begged to no one for it to work.

Jonny d’Ville died that night on Tim’s arms, but he got better.

There was a difference between waking up and resuscitating. While the first was a more… relaxing experience, the second came like a bolt, tickling every nerve on his body and immersing him in a moment of fully awareness that got all traces of sleepiness out of him. Which is to say that, as soon as his lungs started to work again, he starting gasping for air, fully sitting up without care for the arms on his stomach or the rope still binding him.

That managed to wake up Bertie, who had been sleeping next to him. He was all over him in an instant, thinking that he was chocking or about to have some panic attack. Behind him, Tim moved around, until he was crouching in front of Jonny.

They both asked him a thousand of questions, took his temperature, and refuse to let him go until they were sure the danger had passed.

Bertie and Tim… wasn’t he forgetting something?

The Toy Soldier! That mother fucker, insubordinate overgrown coat rack! It had switched sides again, and he could honestly not care less, except that Bertie, Tim and him, they were sent (along with other lads) to “rescue” it. As if it wasn’t having the time of it inexistence.

He was going to make a thousand of toothpicks when he saw him.

When he finally got untied ( _of course I’m fine, I did tell you that I was immortal. Nothing that a good death can’t solve)_ he helped pick up the camp and return to their travel. He had been forced to walk between the two of them, and was asked stupid questions as frequently as it was safe, to make sure he didn’t pass out in the middle of nowhere once again.

He told them that if that were to happen to choke him to death and wait a few minutes. They didn’t find it funny.

Jonny knew that he should probably prove it to them, the whole immortality deal. It wasn’t like he had to kill himself in front of them (tough that would certainly clear the matter completely), but he guessed it was enough if he just cut a little and showed them the flesh healing itself much faster than normal.

He really, really should. Before it was too late.

But it didn’t have to be right now. What he did have to do as soon as possible was to hit Tim. He didn’t know why, he assumed it had to do with something that happened while he was delirious with fever, on Bertie’s words, but he wasn’t going to question those instincts.

He gave him a very big bruise in the chest, and he got one in return (tough it sadly healed too fast).

**Author's Note:**

> Me, writting for this prompt: I wont be able to finish this fic! i still have 3000 words left! better start a new shorter one  
> Also me: proceeds to write 5000 words on two dumbass trying te prevent Jonny from dying.
> 
> Thank you for reading! Comments and Kudos be apreciated as... as a good night sleep, 10 hours without worry, the day is cold but you have a lot of blankets. Everything is fine, and you are happy and you smile. Like that.


End file.
